


Lying Is The Most Fun A Guy Can Have Without Taking His Clothes Off

by Swing Set in December (swing_set13)



Category: Psych, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Police, Alternate Universe - Psychics/Psionics, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-17
Updated: 2012-04-17
Packaged: 2017-11-03 19:45:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/385183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swing_set13/pseuds/Swing%20Set%20in%20December
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is a psychic detective. Though the psychic part is totally up for interpretation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lying Is The Most Fun A Guy Can Have Without Taking His Clothes Off

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this sitting on my desktop for ages. Unbeta'd because I'm an engineer who has other things to do. Comments are love. Seriously, they make my day. A good chunk of dialogue is from the Psych pilot. With artistic liberties. It was a long standing idea that Stiles would make a hilarious fake psychic detective. And I may have had too much tea but I am trying to get all the WIPs from my desktop and then focus on all my other longstanding WIPs. And I really should have been sleeping before posting this.

Stiles always wanted to be a cop. But he lacks focus and has the tendency to cut corners and toe that line between legal and fairly not legal. Which is probably why he's sitting in an interrogation room five at the Beacon Hills' police station with his hands cuffed behind him. It's not like he resisted. Much.

"Can I at least get some coffee or you know my phone call?"

He is staring at the two-way mirror in exasperation.

"The handcuffs were a bit unnecessary," he calls out.

The red light of the camera is his only companion.

One would think actually solving crime would get you some better treatment. 

Apparently not.

\---

He's up to counting the tiles in the ceiling when the door slams open.

"Mr. Stilinski," says a dark haired unshaven detective looming into the room without preamble, tossing a file onto the table. Glossy photos of the midtown first American Bank crime scene scatter along the scarred metal table. A pretty brunet comes in behind him with a bright dimpled smile.

"Can you uncuff me? It's starting to chaff," Stiles says, ignoring the tall mess of aggression in front of him. His wrists are starting to hurt. A lot. 

"We don't release felons," growls the scowling detective. 

"Felons?" Stiles gapes incredulously. "I solved your case!"

"Only someone with inside knowledge of the bank's layout," begins the detective, leaning into Stiles' personal space, his green eyes flashing with irritation that kind of wakes up parts of Stiles that he'd rather stay dormant in a police station. 

"Hey watch it, Detective Scowlypants," glares Stiles which has the other detective cough to cover a snort of laughter. "And it was plain as day that the bank manager was in on it."

"You’re not helping your case here," says the dark-haired detective. 

"My case? Wait, wait, wait. I’m actually a suspect?" asks Stiles, looking at the demur brunet for confirmation. "You have got to be kidding me!"

"Oh, you're our lead suspect," smirks the broody detective and god help Stiles, an actual smile makes the detective even more devastatingly handsome. Good thing he was in plainclothes. Or Stiles would really need to be out of his handcuffs. But even with that, he's getting on Stiles' last nerve. 

"I gave you the guy," declares Stiles.

"He had a partner," chimes in the female detective and the scowling one nods. She actually has the decency to uncuff him.

"I have to find that guy? I’m confused. When do you start chipping in?" glares Stiles, rubbing his wrists. 

"See, your information was good. So good, it could only have come from the inside," says the detective with a fiery glare. 

"Inside of what?" says Stiles, licking his lips. He really doesn't want to have to call his dad in on this. "Look, I’ve called in a shiton of tips, okay? Just check it out."

The detective snorts before opening the file folder on the table and tossing the crime scene photos out of the way and lifts up a stapled booklet up to Stiles. 

"I did. I checked out a whole lot of stuff," he drawls out like a predator circling his prey. "Like, oh, you're currently unemployed. You've never held a steady job for more than five months and you have a criminal record."

Stiles scowls. That arrest is a sore spot for him. It chaffs more than the handcuffs did. "I was seventeen."

"Oh, you were a teenager, well that makes it okay," the detective bites out. "Let's just forget about it!"

"Derek-" begins the other detective before the scowling detective shoots her a glare.

"I borrowed a car," declares Stiles. The actual line he gave his dad at the time was temporarily misappropriated. 

"You stole it."

"To impress a girl," says Stiles and he'd do it again if it meant five more minutes with Lydia Martin. 

The female detective sighs. "Mr. Stilinski-"

"Stiles," he smiles gamely at the girl. She's filling the role of good cop rather well to the other's crazy cop routine. 

"Stiles," she continues. "It all seems really far-fetched-"

"Would it help my case if I told you she had a thing for Molotov cocktails? And I wasn't even attractive to gay guys? I was being Scarlett nerded by proxy - I was zero for high school at that point-" He pauses to looks up at both detectives. The female ones looks invested while the guy is stoically trying to reign in his temper. "And, okay, there were extenuating circumstances. The arresting officer was my father, he was trying to teach me a lesson."

"Did you learn it?" The older detective snorts and Stiles kind of wants to kick his face in. 

Stiles frowns. "I learned I hated my dad." His chest twinges at that dark point in the Stilinski family history. Didn't help it was on the anniversary of his mom's death. It was a sore spot for both him and his dad. Not their finest memory.

"Well, forgive me, if I'm skeptical of the fact you solved this case by-" the detective looks at the folder and frowns. "Watching. The. News."

"Hey, I find it really informative," smirks Stiles. "Did you know you can make a compost heap in your own backyard? I alternate between Channel 7 and 11."

"So that's what you're going with?" barks out the detective. "Reading guilt of the television?"

Stiles shoots him his best doe-eyed look. "Can't you?"

The female detective actually has to put a restraining arm on the lead detective. "Derek!"

They're interrupted by a knock on the door. A police officer bounces into the room with an alacrity that really doesn't match the tension in the room. Stiles vaguely remembers seeing him practicing the box step in the lobby.

"Detective Hale, the witness reports you asked for-" he smiles and Stiles gets up from the chair. 

"You aren't going anywhere," growls Detective Hale, grabbing Stiles and thrusting him up against the interrogation room's wall. 

"Hey! I know my rights," glares Stiles, pushing the detective back. 

Hale releases him with a scowl, noticing the audience. "Good, you have the right to remain silent. Despite how difficult that may be."

Stiles snorts in laughter. "You have got to be kidding me!" He looks around the room. "Oh my God, you're serious!"

He throws his hands up in frustration. The cheery police officer looks ready to cuff him again. 

"A few hours in a holding cell might jog your memory," grins Detective Hale with a wolf-like smile. 

"Stiles," the female detective frowns at him with her doe eyes. "Just give us another reason. That’s all we need. How did you get this information?"

"No, Allison, we're not going to-" says Detective Hale but Allison steps on his instep with a glare.

Stiles licks his lips and tries to make his brain think. His mind is drawing a blank until he zeroes in on Allison's charm bracelet. An emerald green shamrock charm catching the florescent light of the room. 

"I've got ESP," he says. "It's a curse really, being psychic and all."

The police officer shoots the two detectives a perplexed look. 

"You have got to be fu-" begins Hale before Stiles pitches forwards into the cheery police officer. 

"When's the wedding?"

The officer frowns. "June 4th," he blinks and looks at the detectives. "We haven't even sent the invites."

Stiles puts his hand on the officer's chest and closes his eyes. He channels all the times he watched daytime soaps with his mom. 

"I'm getting dancing lessons - you're getting some serious moves there."

"That's amazing!" beams the officer looking at Stiles with awe.

"Oh come on!" growls Hale.

And Stiles goes for broke and careens into Allison. 

"New to town and so much to prove," he hums thoughtfully. "Your mother worries."

"That's amazing," chimes in Allison. He glances at her fingers and gets another burst of information. He hopes he's right.

"You're also pretty handy with a bow."

"Who's buying this?" barks Hale, his eyes spitting venom.

The officer raises his hand meekly as Allison shrugs at her partner.

Stiles blearily tries to remember anything else he gleaned from his time in the lobby. 

"I got it!" he starts shaking his right leg and throws in some jazz hands for good measure. "Go to detention room number three, shake down your vandal. You’ll find all the evidence you need."

He continues his toe tapping number with vigor. "The evidence is in his left shoe."

Allison shares a look with Derek and his shoulders actually slump. 

"We'll be back in five," Hale says before shouldering past the bewildered police officer and lumbers down the hallway, followed closely by Allison. 

Stiles exhales as the officer shuts the door behind him. If he keeps this up, he won't even have to call Scott to bail him out. 

\---

It took some fast talking but Stiles is skipping out of Beacon Hills' police station with a spring in his step. Detective Hale looked ready to gut him from the thunderous look he sent Stiles when the police chief cut him loose. Now free from the cloying embrace of justice, Stiles guns his jeep with unbridled glee and heads off to share the good news. 

He barrels into Scott's office twenty minutes later with pineapple smoothies and an impish grin. 

"Stiles, I'm a _vet_. I'm busy."

"You have no patients," Stiles declares, looking behind himself at the empty waiting room.

"Not since the whale," sighs Scott.

"Ah Shammy, she was an awesome whale," nods Stiles, sucking a great gulp of pineapple goodness into his mouth. "What a whale of a tale that was. And since Doc Deaton is back, you've haven't had any new patients except for the police dogs getting their shots. Your schedule is free, why else would you be playing Angry Birds?"

"I wasn't playing Angry Birds," Scott says hotly. 

Stiles shoots him a skeptical look.

"Ok, so I was," frowns Scott, pulling his iTouch out from under his desk. "What is this about? You never bring me food."

"Remember what we were dreaming about since we were kids but didn't happen?" asks Stiles, handing over the other drink to his best friend.

"First string lacrosse?" offers Scott with a frown.

"No, the other thing," Stiles urges with unbridled glee.

"Being Batman?"

"Yes!" shouts Stiles and fist pumps the air. Scott shoots him a disbelieving look. 

"I'm not wearing tights. 'cause the last time I ended up drunk across the border."

"Ah, prom night," nods Stiles.

"Prom night," glares Scott.

"Good times but no. Detectives!"

"Detectives?" frowns Scott in confusion. "Who's going to hire us?"

"The Beacon Hills' police department," Stiles says with a flourish. 

"I thought your dad retired," says Scott, wrinkling his brow in confusion.

"He did, different thing," Stiles waves off. "They think I'm psychic!"

"Stiles-" begins Scott with an epic judgmental face. One that Mrs. McCall taught well. 

"Come on, it'll be fun," cajoles Stiles. "I promise you won't end up in jail and the detectives are hot."

"Well it has been awhile since I've seen you crash and burn," starts Scott.

"That's the spirit! Who knows, we may even solve a murder!"

"I'd settle for you in handcuffs," grins Scott.

"Kinky," Stiles grins with a waggles of his eyebrows. 

This is going to be great. It's the best idea he's had in ever. What's the worst that could happen?


End file.
